


7:43

by CrookedCat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7494159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrookedCat/pseuds/CrookedCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just sex, no better way to put it. Morning sex to be specific.</p>
            </blockquote>





	7:43

**Author's Note:**

> Written in first person narrative for som f*cking reason I don't know don't ask me. Written before season 3. Sorry for not making it more graphic (I'm not a virgin I promise!).

I wasn’t sure what woke me up, but it couldn’t have been very loud, or else John was in a very deep sleep. It should’ve been something though because I don’t feel well-rested at all, but then again: when am I ever? I only need to use my ears to understand that the man besides me is still sleeping, his breathing is too rhythmical and I also can’t figure out any good reason why he would be acting. But I lay perfectly still, gaze fixed at the back of John’s head. I couldn’t really grasp the concept of looking at your lover when they were sleeping until now, even though my intentions are maybe a bit different from the usual population. You could look only so much without questioning or irritating looks and finally having to stop to avoid a fight. 

I’m not used to sleep with other people; the only other persons I can observe closely are dead so this is a rare opportunity. I watch closely every spot on my boyfriend’s skin. Every hair on his head and down his neck. The veins, the pores. The slight wrinkles in the neck from his sleeping position. I wonder how he will look like with wrinkles all over. I find myself quite anticipated by that thought; any desire to stay alive is welcomed in this, often pretty dull, world. Although in the later years I’ve been starting to rethink it a bit. 

If we had been facing each other John probably would’ve woken up by my staring (for some reason people tend to do that). I’m wondering if I should wake him up. I lift my head slightly, careful not to make a sound or touch John. I look over his cheek at his closed eye, his lashes twitching lightly. It’s surprisingly how serene a sleeping person can look. You can really see the resemblance to the baby we all once were. Dead bodies should look like that too but they don’t. They just look sad in a way. Sad and somewhat pathetic. De-humanized. I glance at the watch on the wall. Almost 7 in the morning. Why the hell am I awake? I gently lay my head down again and a strange thing happens.

For some reason I’m getting aroused. It’s not so common, I know John is annoyed by it but he is trying to not let it show, he knows he can’t change my sex drive anyway. I’m quite puzzled. Was it purely the affection for this man that had this affect? A part of me shudders at the thought. But since there’s really not any harm in it, maybe I should try not to obsess with it?

Oh, who am I kidding?

But suddenly a car races outside the window and everything is too late. John’s breathing changes and he slightly tilt his head but before he can really start to grasp reality I wrap my arms around him. This of course wakes him up even more and I’m a bit annoyed that the fact that I hadn’t been the one deciding when he should wake up. I don’t like it when my power is taken away. But John reacts almost instantly to my motion and grabs my arms, pulling them toward him so that my embrace tightens. His body is warm, much warmer than my own and I let my face search for that perfect position where the back of my nose is just behind his ear. We just lay like that for a while and I’m almost feeling like I’m dozing off again. But my erection doesn’t and slowly I begin to press my hips against John’s arse, eagerly waiting for the reaction.

John seems quite oblivious for a while but then I can almost physically feel his surprise. And finally he turns around, our eyes meet and as, often in the mornings, it sometimes doesn’t feel real. Like he would just say “What the hell are you doing in my bed, Sherlock?”, but of course that doesn’t happen. It will never happen; we know where we are right now. He lays down on my chest, nuzzling his nose into my neck, his right hand stroking my side down to my hip. He lifts his head and kisses my nose for some reason, then my chin and as he proceeds to breath into my neck, his right thumb caress the soft skin around my hipbone. I’m painfully aware that we haven’t spoken to another yet. It feels a bit odd and I’m the king of awkwardness and even I can’t stand this tension.  
“Good morning” I finally settle to say, actually finding it hard to come up with something a bit cleverer.  
“Good morning, indeed” 

You bloody wanker.

I’m about to snort when John gently begins to press his crotch against mine and I let out a sigh as he place a dry kiss on my neck. His mouth is open like that for a while, with his lips glued to my skin, before he finally reach up and let both our lips meet. It’s surprisingly wet.  
“Morning breath” It’s just a statement but I know it sounds as a complain.   
“Oh, shut up” he says and kisses me again but harder. He can feel my smile and I can feel his. I rest my hands on his back and I’m actually starting to get a bit sleepy again. But John sure isn’t anymore and he presses against me, trying to control his eagerness. He’s too much of a gentleman to push me. Well, at least making it too obvious. 

“What do you want to do?” His voice is still a bit hoarse: I like it. I peak through my eyelashes to watch him and answer him in between kisses.  
“I don’t know” I answer truthfully. “Do whatever you want” Johns head almost collapse into my shoulder in an act of disappointment.  
“You could try and sound a bit more… engaged” And he whisper in my ear. “After all, it was actually you who woke me up for this”  
“Actually it wasn’t me, it was a bloody car”   
“You know what I mean” he says and without a warning grabs my cock and squeeze it.

The air that I was supposed to use as a comeback escapes instead in the shape of a moan that is a bit more whimpering than I would like. Wanting total control of my body is one of my many “issues”, as normal people would call it. Now John’s kissing and licking my neck and stroking my cock in long strokes and I choose to breathe through my nose. I can feel John’s own leaking member at the side of my thigh.   
“Do you want me to fuck you?”  
“Ok” I say and think about it a second before I add “Sure”. The answer seems to please him a bit more and he let go of me and reach for his nightstand. I lay still, always a bit uncertain what to do in these situations. But after he grabs the condoms and the lube he comes back to me and directs everything with a steady hand. Press there, kiss there, stroke there. He guides me without being judgmental or too notably impatient, and it annoys the hell out of me. I could never do this for him. 

But he knows that and doesn’t care and that’s what matters. He goes down on me but for a shorter time than usual (since I don’t really need as much preparation today) and suddenly his mouth invades mine and he thrust his hip forward and he’s inside of me. We does this so rarely that I’ve almost not grown custom to it yet. But it takes just a few seconds to remember the feeling again and, thankfully, after that things go mostly per automatic. It’s really just grinding to wherever it feels good. Almost too simple. A bit banal. I try to shake those departed thoughts out of my mind since it’s clearly destroying the mood. I should just try and not think of absolutely anything but the pleasure, like John. 

How does he do that? 

Just as I realized I practically haven’t uttered a word since this whole intercourse thing started, John grabs my neck to push me into a kiss. The position is really uncomfortable since he’s so much shorter than I am but I let it be. The kiss is sloppy and afterwards I let my mouth stay open and let out the sounds that want out. Sometimes I know what my man wants: John almost bites into my shoulder and I can feel his warm breath against my skin as his voice trembles with the words.  
“Oh god, Sherlock” 

I love that. When it sounds like he’s at the total mercy of my body. It turns me on so much I actually just let my head tilt back and my eyes close to focus on the present. John’s past the tenderness now and keeps pounding me while his face is pressed against my chest. I’m just starting to lose myself completely in the pleasure when John slows down and pants with his forehead against my ribs. His skin is sticky.  
“Don’t stop” I say before I can stop myself. John’s a bit surprised and he looks at me and slides out of me to give me a deep kiss before continuing. And I relax again and that feeling when you for some reason imagine your eyes roll to the back of your sockets flows over me. It feels like you’re falling backwards and your head is rushing through the stars. We’re all made out of stardust.

Apparently I can’t think straight anymore and I squeeze my eyes closed. My whole face is crinkled in concentration. I can feel it getting all red and I can feel the sweat on my forehead sipping out of my pores. I try to force myself at the same time I know that it doesn’t always work. Not being in total control turns me off again. But I want to give John this. I want to show him what he can do to me.

The sweat from him drips on my torso but I can’t feel it, I’m just trying to concentrate on the waves of pleasure, trying to get them to peak but they keep on falling. But they pick up again and then you suddenly know: if you don’t stop now it’s going to happen.   
“John. John” He’s too tired to talk, not really as vital as I guess he must’ve been in his youth.  
“I’m… I’t’s…” I’m not sure what I was about to say but it doesn’t matter and John, of course, use his lasts powers to give it his all and he bring me to an orgasm I don’t think I’ve ever had before. I don’t even know what happens afterwards but then John collapses on me and he’s panting so hard it sound like he’s not getting any oxygen at all. 

As we lie there to cool off and wait for our breaths to go down, all I can think about how it can feel like this. How he can make me feel like this. I’m not sure if I should feel proud of him or ashamed of myself. I settle for “neither” and wrap my arms around my boyfriend, kissing his scalp. Even his hair is wet from sweat and I can feel the heat from his skin underneath.  
“Dammit Sherlock” John mumbles in daze. “Why do you get me to do this so early in the morning?” He looks at me with tired eyes.  
“What time is it by the way?”  
“It should be-“: I start and finish in my mind “… 7:41” as I glance up at the watch. 7:43. Wrong by 2 minutes. I’m out of shape.  
“7:43”  
“Ugh” is John’s response and I smile at it. He’s so cute sometimes I can’t help it and I hate it. Hate it hate it hate it. And at the same time I don’t care at all.


End file.
